


Generosity

by Tierfal



Category: Merlin (BBC)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-20
Updated: 2010-02-20
Packaged: 2017-10-07 10:31:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/64278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tierfal/pseuds/Tierfal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Arthur, Merlin, and Will sort a few things out... with difficulty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Generosity

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Eltea](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Eltea).



> Major spoilers through 1.10 and a referential spoiler for 1.13.

Something was not quite right.

Arthur gave Will an imperious look.

"You do know," he reiterated, a flutter of consternation batting its wings in his stomach, "that I will be obligated to report your sorcery."

Will's mouth was set in a firm line, and there was no warmth in his eyes.

"I'm just seeing Merlin back," he retorted, as he had at least three times before. "There's no need to go around reporting anything."

Merlin, for his part, looked as though he'd eaten something extremely poisonous, and it was slowly and vindictively burning away his insides.

"Look, Will," he cut in quietly, "it's okay; I'll be fine. I'll—I'll visit, and…"

"Don't worry about it, Merlin," Will responded, enunciating distinctly. "The magic saved the town and all of our lives, and it'd be poor thanks to turn around and punish the person behind it."

He and Merlin shared a long, pointed, remarkably meaningful look.

Arthur was categorically not jealous of the effortlessness of their silent communication.

"All right," Merlin conceded, softly still, looking abruptly away. "I'll show you around. We'll have a grand old time hiding from Uther in the sewers."

Arthur didn't want to ask whether he meant "hiding from Uther by escaping to the sewers" or "hiding from Uther, who has an affinity for them."

Either way, he didn't like where this was going.

It was all just unnerving—and had been since that first moment when he'd left the cottage, unable to bear the sight of the tears welling in Merlin's eyes, and then stepped back in to see Will sitting up, one hand to his head, staring at Merlin with Merlin staring back.

Magic. _Magic_. Arthur wanted none of this—even if it did rescue heroes from the brink of death, even if it had been a miracle in the fight, even if… even if maybe his father was wrong, or at least not-entirely-correct. Arthur didn't like it, not a jot, because the power he understood was the kind that you held in your hand and utilized to bash somebody else's head in. It was touchable, tangible, admittedly violent, and beautifully straightforward. He could, quite literally, grasp it.

Magic was different. Magic was some sort of quasi-spiritual, flows-out-of-you-from-nowhere _thing_, and you couldn't gauge the strength of someone's magical offensive by comparing their biceps to yours.

And yet here he was, with Will the Sorcerer, and Merlin the Accomplice, merrily leading them into the center of the bonfire.

Actually, come to think of it, given the fate of most sorcerers these days, that figure was in poor taste.

…why did these things _always_ happen to him?

—

  
Arthur was whittling, mostly just to occupy his hands, and nudging the fallen curls of bark towards the fire with his toe. Merlin stood, smiled, gripped Will's shoulder briefly, and went to go check on the girls, whose campfire was pitched a short ways from their own.

Arthur suspected that this was simply so that Morgana could avoid full exposure to his mind-numbingly dashing good looks, but he intended to keep that theory to himself in the interest of preserving all his limbs.

Will gazed at the crackling kindling and shifted.

Arthur cleared his throat, awkwardly it had to be admitted, and began, "So—you and Merlin have been friends…"

"Since we were kids," Will confirmed, his hands folded between his knees. "One of those 'can't remember anything different' sorts of things."

Arthur frowned at the unfortunate tree branch he was in the process of flaying meticulously.

"Has he always known about your…" _Abomination_ sounded a wee bit overzealous. "…ability?"

Will shrugged. "It was sort of—something that… happened. There were just these inexplicable things every now and again, and eventually we realized that it was a sort of—a force of its own, rather than miracles or coincidences, and we tried to figure out if maybe we could focus that power."

Arthur kicked wood chips into the fringes of the fire, where they sizzled as if personally offended.

"And now you can call hurricanes from nowhere for use in battle?" he prompted.

Will looked at the dust beneath their feet. "I guess so."

Arthur considered him shrewdly—this _Will_. He was hardly threatening in and of himself, this country boy, with his round face and his easy smile—but to think that the innocuous exterior belied a mastery of elements and of _human life_, judging by his deft sidestepping of a mortal wound, was intensely unnerving, and Arthur couldn't let it go.

And yet… tremendous power or not, Will had used it to save innocent people from destruction. Wasn't that something Arthur strived to do, no matter the cost? Wasn't it something he'd broken countless rules for? Hadn't the incident with the druid boy already proved that, given the choice between his father's doctrine and a human being, he knew which he would pick?

He hacked at his stick with the knife.

Will licked his lips uncertainly, glancing over at Merlin, whose beaming grin as he consulted Gwen and Morgana was visible quite despite the night.

"He tried very hard to be understanding," Will divulged, "even though he wasn't sure what to make of it at first. He knew it wasn't my fault that I'd been given this, and that it was actually a responsibility—to use it to help people, and to do good in the world. So he accepted what neither of us could change, and he stayed with me and did the best he could, because… that's what friends do."

Arthur flicked more cuttings into the flames with the sharpened tip of the stick.

"Merlin…" he heard himself say, "is… generous, in his way."

Will smiled at the fire.

—

  
Merlin was a terrible tour guide.

Arthur supposed he should have seen that coming.

The boy pointed out hidey-holes in the marketplace and secret spots of verdure where wildflowers grew, people's houses in the outer bailey, and the best parts of the wall for watching the sunrise.

Arthur made sure that Will also took note of insignificant details like, oh, the considerable thickness of those walls, the efficacy and size of Camelot's mobile fighting force, the actual glass in the windowpanes…

He pretended not to notice the way Merlin rolled his eyes.

As they passed Arthur's room, however, he saw that the door was ajar.

"_What_?" he cried indignantly, storming forward and shoving it properly open to enter. "Who the _hell_ went and—"

His father was sitting, legs crossed, eyebrows raised, in Arthur's chair.

Arthur wisely swallowed the rest of his prospective sentence.

"Hello, Arthur," Uther greeted him, standing and offering a horrifyingly calm smile. "I was told you'd arrived." Arthur was going to slaughter whoever was responsible, slowly and with gusto. "But I see you've got company."

Arthur wondered if the floor would be kind enough to open up and swallow him—just a sliver. He'd squeeze through.

"Father," he managed, "this is Will, from Ealdor, who's a friend of Merlin's. Will, this is Uther Pendragon, king of Camelot."

Will was evidently smarter than Merlin, as he immediately went down on one knee and bowed his head.

Unconcernedly Uther gestured to him to rise, already strolling towards the door. He paused long enough to lay an extremely portentous hand on Arthur's shoulder.

"I'll speak to you later," he promised.

Arthur inclined his own head to demonstrate that he understood, and Uther looked past him and offered Merlin that little nod he'd started giving ever since the time Merlin had saved Arthur from the witch masquerading as Lady Helen.

And the time Merlin had drunk from the poisoned chalice meant for him.

And then the time he'd salvaged most of Arthur's dignity during the Sophia fiasco.

And the wound from the Questing Beast.

Everything fell into place as Arthur pushed the door securely shut.

He turned to his companions.

"Will," he said, "what does it feel like?"

Will blinked. "What?"

"Magic," Arthur pressed. "What does using magic feel like?"

Will frowned. "It's a—it's like—as though there's a—a current in you, like a river, and you can dam it and channel it, but sometimes it floods…"

He glanced at Merlin out of the corner of his eye.

"Confirmation?" Arthur asked, voice airy with a practiced ring of unsheathing steel. "How was that, Merlin? Is that how it feels?"

Merlin opened his mouth, shut it, and bit his lip, the pink plumpness of which Arthur made a concerted effort to ignore.

"Well?" he prompted. "How does it feel?"

Will stepped between them, as if diverting Arthur's glare would change the facts.

"Can you tell now?" he demanded. "That's exactly why I told you it was me, _Sire_."

They really were two of a kind; this was mildly frightening.

"We both knew you'd cast him out as some sort of monster," Will snarled, and Arthur saw Merlin flinch.

"All this time," Arthur mused to Merlin, "I just thought my luck had taken a drastic turn for the better—but it was you all along. You were pulling at the strings. How many times have you really saved my life, Merlin? How much have you done that I don't even know about?"

"Why does it even mat—"

"Would you have listened if he'd told you, Arthur?" Will cut in. "Would you have seen it for what it is, instead of as your father's greatest enemy?"

"Will," Merlin told him, patience slipping, "stay out of this."

"I'm trying to _protect_ you!" Will protested.

"_I'm_ trying to protect _you_!" Merlin countered.

"You dragged me into this when you saved my life!"

"You dragged _yourself_ into this when you tried to take the fall for me!"

Will stomped one foot angrily. "I _hate_ you!"

"I hate you, too!" Merlin howled back, hands fisted in his hair.

They went at each other in raging unison, and Arthur had already moved to break up the fight when he realized that they had, in fact, grabbed hold of each other's shirtfronts and sealed their mouths together.

Merlin made a soft sound that crossed whimper and sigh and stroked one tremulous hand down Will's cheek.

This was not most likely the most arousing thing Arthur had ever seen in his life.

Not at all.

Nope.

Merlin broke away, scrubbing the back of his hand across his lips, and stumbled for the door, shaking his head desperately.

"I'll—I'll leave, it's fine, I'll go somewhere—"

Will took one step.

"—but _not_ Ealdor, I can't—"

Arthur reached out and caught Merlin's neckerchief in five curling fingers.

"You," he announced, "are not going anywhere, _Mer_lin."

Merlin stopped, the better to stare at him as if he'd lost his mind.

"Well," Arthur amended generously, "you can go where you want to…" He frowned again and pointed a stern finger at Will. "But not until you give me some of what you gave him."

This seemed to be further evidence for Merlin's developing theory about Arthur's sanity or the lack thereof.

Then it dawned on him that Arthur was serious, and his narrowed eyes widened precipitously.

He transferred his weight from one foot to the other and glanced down at where Arthur's hand maintained its firm grasp of his favored accessory.

"I…" he managed, blushing heartily and not unhappily. "Well—can we all—?"

Arthur looked at Will, who looked back, blinked, and slowly smiled again.

"The more the merrier," Arthur decided.

—

  
The following morning, Arthur reveled in the three pieces of proof of his own very respectable brilliance.

The first was that he had two extraordinarily affectionate boys dozing in his bed, bathed in sunbeams: one snuggled up with the comforter and smiling softly even as he slept; the second dreaming with an arm draped over the other's waist, cheek resting against a very bony shoulder-blade, bangs still slightly damp.

The next bit of evidence was that Arthur was in his bed _with_ them.

That was an important one.

The third and final testament to his genius was the dresser that they'd pushed in front of the door at his suggestion.

He rather liked this arrangement.

A prince could get used to this.


End file.
